Read a book. Save the world. Save my sanity.

I don't mean to play favorites. Besides, we all know Lucy's my favorite because Max decided to hang out and relax for an hour and a half while I was in labor. And the epidural wore off, but whatever.

I should level the playing field and explain, when we got home from our party disaster, Ricardo was sitting on the couch tuning out the temper tantrum of Max upstairs in his room. When you don't respond fast enough to his wailing, he starts kicking his wall. In the words of Jim Carrey in the Grinch That Stole Christmas,
"Nice kid. BAD JUDGE OF CHARACTER!"

"Max, how old are you?" I always ask this. They always answer correctly, and then I explain that they are acting like 3 year-olds with the tantrum. And they stop, and then we hug, and they help me fold laundry and talk about our feelings and then they tell me what a precious mother I am to them and how much they love me so... Well, they stop the tantrum until a new one comes up.

Max apparently picked up on this, and opted to down grade. Mix it up. Throw me off my game.
"FIVE YEARS OLD!"

So, I calmly explained since he was now 5, we didn't need to save up for that Nintendo DS and that he could just stay there and let 'er rip on the tantrum until dinner time.

Silence is bliss.

Today, I talked to what I refer to as my locker room pals. No, we don't make out and gawk at each other's naked ness, anymore... We talk while we're doing our hair and makeup at the vanity. My locker room pals have a way bigger workout ethic than I do. So, I only chat with them in the locker room. We never ever, ever cross paths during workout. Only after showers. So, I'm chatting with one of those pals, and she says, "It's only been a week, and I just feel like, like a failure."

Amen sister. Amen. I suggest we pretend our water bottles are full of vodka instead of water. Really, this particular locker room pal and I have absolutely nothing in common, except we both do our hair and make up at about the same time at the gym, and we're both ladies, but really, even then, I'm half the woman she is, I suppose. So, we have nothing in common, except mommyhood, and yet, we feel the exact same after one week with our kids, like a failure.

I'm guessing locker room pal has a new plan. She's savvy like that. That, and if she wanted to, she could buy a nanny and run off with the country club pool boy to his Grecian homeland. I'm sure of it. I don't think she would. But she could. Me, I just traded in my kids for different models. I really think I did. Because today, they are brilliant little angels.

We went to two libraries today. Their school has a summer program, so they like to go check out the school, make sure everything is in order. And then the city library has an incentive program. In one week, my kids have read a total of 46 books. I'm not even making that up. What provokes a kid to read? Fantastic stories and imagination? No. Money and prizes. Today, we got to go pick up the prizes. And what? You want more books? Sho nuff. Because you can't beat your brother while reading.

They have been reading all day. Until the tree guys came to cut the limbs down. We watched that. Then they helped me clean. Then they read some more. Then Lucy wanted to write a book report. On every book. She's read 7 books in the last two hours. I guess I found my daughter in the bushes.

That's how I roll.